The Secrets of Solace

by Jaleigh Johnson

  Lina felt Ozben tugging on her arm. Her link to the ship faded, and she opened her eyes.

  “Sorry, but I think you’re going to want to see this,” he said.

  Lina looked out the window and realized with a jolt that they were outside the mountain. Curtains of snow already blanketed the window, but as Lina watched, the delicate flakes melted and ran down the glass in dozens of thin rivers. It was as if the ship was giving off its own heat waves. The rumbling within the ship had grown louder, filling her ears, and that’s when Lina realized they were hovering in the air.

  Ozben was right. She wouldn’t have missed this for the world.

  Lina fumbled at her harness straps again, intending to get up out of her seat and press her face against the glass for a better view, but Ozben reached across the space between them to stop her hands.

  “I wouldn’t do that right now,” he advised. “We don’t know how fast the ship can go. One minute you might be staring out the window, and the next you could end up as a Lina-sized pancake splattered against the glass.”

  Lina couldn’t help giggling at the image his words conjured. She knew he was right, but still, she itched to get up and watch the ship’s ascent. So far, they were rising straight up the mountainside, propelled by the updrafts beneath the ship’s wings or by the Sun Sphere or by both. The rocky outcrops and snow-filled crevices rushed by as the Merlin picked up speed, and a burst of exhilaration washed over Lina. It seemed to emanate from both her and the ship—a surge of freedom and the thrill of uncertainty accompanying it.

  We’ve come out of hiding.

  They were venturing forth into the world, and none of them knew what would happen next. Lina was used to being in situations she could control, to having the safety of tunnel walls around her, but now she had to put her faith and trust in the Merlin. Her heart pounded in her chest, and when she looked over at Ozben, she saw his eyes wide with excitement as he gazed out the window.

  And then they cleared the mountaintop, and the whole of Ortana spread out below them.

  Lina looked down and gasped. She’d never seen the stronghold from above like this, and at that moment, she envied the chamelins their wings and keen vision. Through the blowing snow, she glimpsed the lights of the domed aeries shining in the darkness. Below it were the turrets of stone and glass she’d described to Ozben, along with the crescent-shaped balcony where the archivists brought their telescopes out on cold nights to look at the sky over Gazer’s Gorge. Those astronomers would have loved the view out the Merlin’s window.

  “Goddess, that’s amazing,” Ozben breathed. As the ship rose higher in the air, the strongholds of Geligaunt and Ironstar came into view. Immense stone bridges stretched from each of the strongholds to span the gorge, with lanterns hung on tall iron posts lighting the way across.

  “I’ve never seen the bridges like this,” Lina murmured, gazing down at the glittering paths. They were moving forward now, soaring over the strongholds, and Lina wondered whether any of the archivists were looking up and seeing the airship. How would they react? With awe? Fear? Lina shook her head. She would worry about that after they returned from Hawthorn Pass.

  The snow fell harder as they flew away from the stronghold, heading north. Wind buffeted the ship, making Lina glad she’d heeded Ozben’s advice to stay strapped into her seat. Clouds obscured the moonlight, and after a few minutes, Lina couldn’t see anything out the window but snow and darkness.

  “This isn’t good,” Ozben said. “How does the ship know where we’re going if we can’t see a foot in front of the window?”

  “I don’t know,” Lina said, feeling helpless. She’d shown the ship an image in her mind of the path to Hawthorn Pass, but that had been in daylight on a clear afternoon. How did it know where to go now? And even if they reached the pass, they’d have to descend into a steep ravine without crashing into the canyon wall, then somehow find the refugees and Ozben’s sister in the middle of the storm.

  “There must be something we’re missing,” Ozben said. “The ship could be using a form of navigation we’re not familiar with, the same way it communicates by emotions instead of words. Maybe it has other senses that are telling it where to go.”

  “I hope so,” Lina said. But even if that was the case, how would they find the refugees? Did the ship have a way of sensing them too?

  They flew on into the darkness, leaving Gazer’s Gorge and the strongholds behind. The deeper they traveled into the mountains, the worse visibility became. As time passed, Lina’s anxiety grew.

  Suddenly, a spike of wariness surged through her, an emotion that Lina immediately recognized as not her own.

  “Did you feel that?” Ozben asked, and Lina nodded. On the heels of the warning, an image flashed through her mind, a group of large winged shadows fighting through the storm and the wind buffeting them against rock walls.

  “It’s the chamelins,” Lina said. “The ship is sensing them. They’re trying to get into the pass.” She flinched as she saw a chamelin slam into the side of the mountain, his wings twisting around his body. He dropped onto a ledge and rolled, his claws digging for purchase on the rocks. They were fighting a losing battle. “The storm’s too much for them,” Lina said. “They’ll never get through.”

  The wind had intensified, battering the ship from side to side. For the first time since they’d put it back in the console, the Sun Sphere flickered, its power wavering as the ship tried to push forward into the storm.

  “Maybe there’s a way we can bring the chamelins on board,” Ozben said. “I think I remember seeing an access hatch on the upper level. It only opens from the inside. We could bring the chamelins in through there and—” But he stopped, making a noise of frustration. “The snow’s so thick, they won’t even know we’re out here with them.”

  “Maybe we can fix that,” Lina said, scanning the control panel. She wished she could read what each button and knob did. She needed the ship to guide her. “We want to rescue the chamelins and bring them on board,” she said, raising her voice to address the Merlin directly. “But they can’t see us in the dark.” A gust of wind struck the ship, throwing Lina against the back of her seat. The Sun Sphere flickered again, and Lina knew the ship must be hurting too, yet it continued on—for them.

  She hated just sitting here doing nothing while the ship took on all the burden of the rescue mission. The Merlin was meant to have a crew, or at the very least a pilot—someone to share the workload. There had to be something she and Ozben could do to help.

  “You don’t have to do this alone,” Lina said to the Merlin. “Show me how to help fly the ship.”

  Ozben’s head whipped around in surprise. “I’m sorry—did you just say you want to fly the ship now?”

  “Why not?” Lina asked. Her excitement built as the idea took root in her mind. “I mean, I don’t expect to become a fabulous pilot overnight, but we need a crew to help the ship. Think about it. It’s doing everything right now—routing power, compensating for the storm, navigation, and probably a hundred other little things we’re not aware of.”

  “All right, I’ll give you that, but what about me?” Ozben asked, raising an eyebrow. “What am I going to be doing while you get to be the first human to pilot an airship from the uncharted lands? Not that I’m jealous or anything,” he added quickly.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Lina said, shooting him a mischievous grin. “You get to go topside to rescue the chamelins. How did you put it? ‘The least important prince of the Merrow Kingdom’ gets to save the day by getting on top of an airship in the middle of the worst blizzard in history.”

  Ozben considered that for a second, and then he smiled. “Yep, that’s pretty good,” he said. His expression quickly turned serious. “But won’t an air rescue be risky?”

  Lina bit her lip. “Yes and no.” The ship shuddered, jostling them in their seats. “Feel that?” she said. “The wind is already batting the ship around as if it’s a toy. If we land now, we might not b
e able to land again to pick up all the refugees. I don’t know what the limits of its power source are.”

  “You’re right,” Ozben said. “I’ll make sure the chamelins get on board safely, but whatever happens, be careful, Lina.”

  “You too,” she said, reaching over to squeeze his hand.

  Carefully, Ozben unhooked his harness. He put a hand against the wall, bracing himself, as he made his way to the stairs at the rear of the ship. Lina watched him go for a moment, her stomach churning with worry. She’d tried to be light-hearted about it, but she knew that what they were about to do would be dangerous. If the ship couldn’t hold steady, Ozben could fall, or if she didn’t steer the Merlin correctly, they might crash into the side of a mountain.

  Lina forced those doubts and fears aside. “All right,” she said, her hand hovering over the Sun Sphere. “If this is a bad idea, you’d better let me know now.” She waited for a flicker of emotion from the ship, but she didn’t feel anything. Lina wondered if that meant the Merlin was as uncertain about this as she was.

  Only one way to find out.

  Lina closed her eyes, put her hand on the sphere, and reached out to the Merlin. Images flew through her mind, mostly of the control panel and the corresponding functions of the ship. At first, Lina couldn’t grasp them at all. They were too far beyond anything she’d studied in her books. Then, gradually, she realized that the ship was showing her two main controls. The first was how to steer the ship while compensating for the wind, and the second…

  Lina opened her eyes and smiled. She reached for a dial on the control panel. “I hope the chamelins are ready for this,” she said to the ship.

  —

  Ozben found the hatch. A ladder bolted to the floor led to the small recessed square of metal in the roof of the ship. The chamelins would barely fit through it in their winged forms, but this was their best option.

  He climbed up the ladder and had his hand on the latch when Lina shouted up to him from the bridge. “Ozben!” she called. “I’m going to signal the chamelins, let them know we’re here. Brace yourself!”

  Brace himself? What did that mean? “All right!” he shouted back, then unfastened the bolt on the hatch and pushed it up. A blast of wind and wet snow hit him in the face, blinding him. Ozben scrubbed his coat sleeve over his eyes and blinked several times to clear his vision. Hooking his left arm over the top rung of the ladder, he pushed the hatch all the way open, and it slammed against the roof of the ship.

  Swirling snow, darkness, and frigid air greeted Ozben as he poked his head out the hatch. The wind howled in his ears and burned against his face. For a second, he felt as if he was back on that mountain ledge with the assassin chasing him. He couldn’t see in any direction, and there was no sign of the chamelins. Ozben didn’t know how Lina was going to signal them, unless there was some way she could use the lumatites again. Though even their glow would be a paltry thing in this storm.

  At that moment, Ozben’s world exploded in light.

  He teetered on his unsteady perch and grabbed onto the top rung with his right hand. Balancing carefully, he looked around for the source of the brilliant light and was shocked.

  It was the entire ship.

  The Merlin’s metal skin had turned a dazzling gold that lit up the sky like a thousand candles. They’d become a beacon in the night.

  When Ozben’s eyes had somewhat adjusted to the dazzling light, he glimpsed five shapes not too far from the ship. They fought the wind, making a slow but steady path toward him. Bracing himself with his feet, Ozben waved his arms in the air, beckoning the chamelins to the hatch. A few minutes later, the first of them landed on the roof of the ship, claws digging little furrows into the metal. Ozben winced, hoping that the damage didn’t hurt the Merlin. Could the ship feel pain the way humans did? He had no idea, and no time to consider it now as he reached out and grabbed the chamelin by the arm to try to steady him as he climbed to the hatch.

  Behind Ozben, another chamelin landed on the ship with a loud bang. He scrambled across the slick metal surface and grabbed the edge of the hatch just as Ozben started to climb down the ladder to help the first of the chamelins inside.

  When they were safely in the ship and out of the storm, the chamelin flapped the snow from his wings and stared at Ozben in bewildered recognition. Ozben didn’t blame him. As the chamelin shifted back to his human form, his wet wings drawing into his shrinking body, Ozben wondered which of the thousand questions the chamelin surely had would get out of his mouth first.

  He was surprised when the chamelin simply bowed his head to Ozben and said, “Thank you for the rescue.” He was out of breath, shivering as he adjusted his dripping robe to his human form. “You got here just in time.”

  Ozben flushed, suddenly embarrassed. “Oh, you’re welcome,” he said. He was saved from saying anything else as, one by one, the rest of the chamelins descended the ladder and shape-shifted to their human forms.

  “Everything all right up there?” Lina called from below.

  “We’re all here,” Ozben answered. He glanced at the chamelin who had thanked him. “Were there only five of you?”

  “Yes.” The chamelin nodded. “I’m Malror,” he said, holding out his hand.

  “Ozben,” Ozben said, shaking it.

  Malror’s lips quirked in a wry smile. “I know who you are, Prince Ozben.” He took in his surroundings and let out a low whistle. “I never knew the archivists had an airship,” he said. “With this, we may actually make it into the pass.”

  “That’s the plan,” Ozben said. He decided not to mention the fact that the archivists didn’t actually know about the airship.

  “Where is the rest of the crew?” one of the other chamelins asked.

  “We just have a pilot,” Ozben said, fidgeting. He realized that he should have been better prepared for the questions the chamelins would ask. “We needed to make as much room for the refugees as we could.”

  “I see.” Malror nodded, but Ozben could tell by his expression that he sensed there was more going on.

  “Ozben!” Lina shouted. “Little help here, please!”

  “On my way!” Ozben heard the controlled panic in her voice and sprinted for the stairs. “You might want to hold on to something,” he called back over his shoulder to the chamelins. He didn’t mention that the pilot was an apprentice, not an archivist, and that she wasn’t actually a pilot. Why burden them with details?

  When he got to the bridge, Lina was sweating, one hand with a white-knuckled grip on the steering controls in front of her and the other flying over the panel, adjusting dials and checking gauges. Ozben was impressed—and a little frightened.

  “How did you learn how to do all that in the last few minutes?” he asked.

  “The Merlin’s guiding me,” Lina said, distracted by all she was doing. “We’re coming up on the pass,” she said. “I’m trying to hold the ship steady while it descends, but this wind is horrible.” She muttered something Ozben didn’t catch and thumped one of the gauges with her knuckle.

  “What can I do?” Ozben asked, strapping himself into the seat beside her.

  “Keep an eye out for the refugees,” Lina said. “We don’t want to land until we’re within sight of them.”

  “Will do.” Ozben leaned forward, straining to see out the window. The ship was still glowing like a star. Even if the refugees had taken shelter somewhere among the rocks, surely they would notice the beacon shining above them.

  He glanced over at the Sun Sphere, and a wave of foreboding went through him. The power source’s glow was noticeably dimmer than it had been when they’d started their journey.

  “Umm, Lina,” he said. He didn’t want to distract her, but they had the beginnings of a serious problem.

  “I saw it,” Lina said tersely. “I can feel it too. The ship is bleeding power. It needs time to recharge.”

  “Can it recharge while we’re on the ground?” Ozben asked.

  “I hope so,�
� Lina said. Suddenly she jerked the controls to the left. “There’s a break in the wind. We’re going down. Hold on!”

  The ship groaned as Lina pointed the nose downward and fought to keep the controls steady. Ozben’s stomach churned at the sudden weightlessness as the ship dropped, then dropped again. Oh, please don’t let me throw up now.

  “Argh! This isn’t going to be gentle!” Lina yelled, jerking the controls again.

  “Yeah, I kinda guessed that,” Ozben said weakly. Then a faint light broke through the darkness beyond the window. Nothing more than a brief glimmer, and it was gone before he could call Lina’s attention to it.

  His nausea forgotten, Ozben leaned forward, straining against his harness to see out the window. “Come on,” he muttered. “I know you’re out there somewhere, Elinore. Give me a signal—something!”

  As if his sister had heard him, flickering lights started appearing on the ground below them. They were never visible for more than a second or two before vanishing, but it was enough to convince Ozben.

  “I see them!” he cried excitedly, pointing to the specks of light. “I think they’re trying to use signal lanterns, but they can’t keep them lit. They’re right below us!”

  “Goddess, I hope they get out of the way,” Lina said, her voice strained.

  Rock walls rushed past them, so close that Ozben gulped. He imagined the ship’s wings scraping along the rocks or snapping off completely. Ozben kept his gaze on the flickering lights and tried to push those thoughts out of his mind.

  Almost there. Just a little bit more.

  The ground came up fast. The ship’s landing gear had barely deployed before they touched down and dragged through deep snowdrifts. Ozben rocked back against his seat and lost sight of the lights.

  “Hold on! Hold on!” Lina screamed, and Ozben didn’t know whether she was talking to him, the chamelins, or the Merlin. They were still moving, sliding along the ground, but now the snow was helping them. The heavy drifts slowed the ship down, and eventually they ground to a stop with a rock wall rising steeply to their left out the window.